


Believe In Nothing But

by Sparseparsley



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crimes & Criminals, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-10
Updated: 2011-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:09:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparseparsley/pseuds/Sparseparsley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared figures he knows everything he needs to know about his boyfriend. Everything important, anyway. Right up to the night he gets attacked in his own home, waking up in the company of someone who will show him how little he knows about the man he calls Jensen Jones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Believe In Nothing But

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the 2011 ReverseBang, from [bumerbmw's](http://bumerbmw.livejournal.com/) video prompt. Our masterpost for the challenge can be found [here on LJ.](http://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com/92279.html)
> 
> Many thanks to Bumy for an awesome and very inspiring fanvid as well as the extra work she did on things like banners and dividers. She really helped this be a great experience, too, with lots of communication and support. I'm really glad we got to work together, thanks! Thanks also to my beta, [](http://dizzzylu.livejournal.com/>dizzzylu</a>, who was still helping me polish the porny bits this morning. Now that's dedication. Thanks, Diz, you really came through for me and you're exactly as picky as you need to be. ;p</p>)

The front door bangs off the wall as Jared shoves through it, stumbling under the weight of a half dozen overstuffed, plastic grocery bags.

“Mrrfugger!”

He glares at the freshly pitted dent where the doorknob smacked the wall, baring his teeth around the handle of the bag gripped in his mouth. Motherfucker. Now Jen’s gonna give him that ‘Don’t look at me, you said you were gonna fix it’ look again. Whatever, it’s his security deposit, he can have dented walls if he wants to.

It’s an unkind thought and he takes it back almost immediately as he makes his way to the kitchen, heaving the bags onto the counter with a grunt. So what if it started as his apartment, Jensen’s been here for over a year now. It’s theirs. Their apartment, their deposit, their... fish.

“Hey, Barry!” He pauses in putting the groceries away, twisting the cap off a new plastic canister of food and tearing away the foil guard. Barry, their little Betta fish, turns a circle in the tank they have set up by the doorway to the living room. “Now remember, we are _not_ telling Jen that I let you run out of food, okay?” The pungent flakes float along the surface of the water as he shakes a little out. “Good fish.” Barry nips along the top, sucking them down with his ‘o’ shaped mouth.

In all honesty, the fish is mostly Jensen’s and Jared isn’t exactly sure how he got roped into being the one who takes care of it. He’d wanted a dog originally but, well, apartment.

That had been their first really big fight, actually. Not the dog thing, the apartment thing. Jared was _so_ ready to move into a proper house, something with a lawn and a dog and a lack of creepy neighbours who like to sleep in the halls. Jensen was... less ready. But it’s almost funny how Jared considers that fight a high point in their relationship. He takes his time with the groceries, smiling to himself at the memory. That was when he _knew_. Granted he’d been pretty damn sure already, what with the ‘let’s buy a house together’ thing, but in every relationship before this, when there was a big fight, he’d always have this thought in the back of his head. This voice that said ‘I don’t want to do this, it isn’t worth it’. Even if he could barely hear it, that voice had always been there. Except with Jensen. It had always been worth it with him.

The low trill of the phone breaks him out of his thoughts.

“Hello?” He cradles the handset between cheek and shoulder as he finishes filling the fridge.

“Hey.”

“Hey!” It’s Jensen, voice clear despite the rattling din of noise in the background. He must be holed up someplace out of the way. Jared moves the phone to his hand and leans against the counter, grinning. “How’s it going? Sounds busy.”

It generally does sound busy, there. Jensen works at a furniture warehouse where a slow day is like a mythical beast and he comes home tired and smelling of sweat almost every night, often wanting nothing more than to just cuddle up beside (sorry, ‘lean on’) Jared and watch TV. Not that Jared minds. He’s a big enough man to admit that he enjoys a good lean-on every now and then. And frankly, he likes the way sweaty Jensen smells. Like, a lot.

“Yeah. There was a serious fuck up in the orders today.” Irritation bleeds through Jensen’s voice even though Jared can hear him reigning it in, trying to keep his patience. “We’re way behind, it’s gonna be like another two hours.”

Jared makes a distressed noise before he can stop himself. He’d been looking forward to tonight. They both have the day off tomorrow (or Jensen has the day off and Jared, being freelance, was just going to skip out on editing that day, so there) so tonight _was_ going to be fun. And by fun he means he’d hoped both of them would be walking funny in the morning. “Aw, damn. Well... want me to call the office in fifteen and fake a family emergency? Help, help, Barry drowned?”

There’s a soft chuckle from the phone. “No, but thanks.” The laugh trails into a long sigh, one part frustration to two parts heat. “Fuck, baby, I’ve been thinking about you all day. God damn assholes screwing everything up.”

Jared grins. “Oh yeah?” He figures he shouldn’t encourage it when Jensen gets like this, all dirty mouthed and rough, but at the same time he savours it. When they first met, Jared had found Jensen shy and almost cold, quiet to the point of rude and Jared had been surprised to find out what was underneath. And even more surprised when he realized he was maybe the _only_ person who got to see it. So sue him, it made him feel special. “Well, if you can get home without insulting anyone’s mom or passing out in the doorway, I promise I’ll blow you to sleep, okay?”

“Mmm.” It’s almost a growl, and Jared can picture the dark, low-lidded look that goes with it. “Tomorrow. I’m- I don’t know exactly what I’m gonna do to you but it’ll be illegal, I can say that.”

“Ha, everything we do is illegal somewhere, you’ll have to do better than that.”

“Oh, I guarantee it.” The distant noise rises suddenly, accompanied by another curse from Jensen. “Shit, I’ve gotta get back there. I’ll see you later okay? Hey! Did you get those taco chips I like?”

He snorts. “Yes, Christ, I got your chips. When have I ever not gotten your chips?”

“There was that one time! I remember, I was devastated.”

 _”God.”_ The words are exasperated but Jared’s voice is warm and playful. “Just... go back to work, you sofa pusher.”

They exchange quick good-byes and ‘love you’s before hanging up. Quick on Jared’s part at least. Jensen is still awkward and stilted with the casual declarations of love thing but the fact that he still makes the effort when it’s clearly not easy for him is all Jared really needs. Usually. In his more self conscious moments he wonders if Jensen is as real about this as he is. It’s another unkind thought with very little backing it, but he can’t seem to shake it. He just gets these... feelings sometimes and- ah, whatever. If Jensen says he loves him then he loves him, there’s no reason to think otherwise.

Jared grabs a soda out of the fridge and distracts himself with wondering what to do with his evening. No point in cooking, Jensen usually brings food home with him when he works late. Maybe he can get a little work done, instead.

Lost in thought, he misses the extra shadow in the living room as he passes through. His only warning is the scuff of something moving over the carpet behind him before sharp pain explodes behind his ear. He catches a distorted reflection in the glass of the television as shock floods him, but he’s flat on the floor before he can even make a shape out.

“Nn-!”

Wha-, what, are they being robbed? The thick pain in his head makes it impossible to think clearly as he lurches to his hands and knees. He has to get away, he knows, but which way is away? Strange things stand out, the multicolored fibres of the carpet, the sound of a car alarm outside, his hand feels wet. Why-? Oh, the soda bottle, it must have broke when he dropped it.

Suddenly there’s a weight on his back and two black polished shoes at his sides. Trapped and in pain, he panics, shoving away from the floor, hands flailing for anything that might be in reach. His stomach turns with the movement, waves of nausea rolling over him in time with the throbbing thump in his head. The weight shoves back down and a hand appears in front of him, holding something. A... a dish towel? Why would...

“Shh, shh, s’fine, everything’s fine, big boy. Deep breaths now.”

He inhales sharply, an automatic reaction to the strange voice, and everything goes distant, like his brain’s been packed in cotton balls. Or, or bubble wrap. Or... it’s dark. He didn’t turn the lights out, why...

“There you go, good boy, just a quick nap and then everything will be fine.”

Why is it dark? The glass, he has to clean up the glass before Jen steps in...

 

**********

 

The apartment door is open when Jensen gets home.

He forces his muscles to relax as he walks by, giving the inside of the apartment a casual look, curious just like any normal passer-by would be.

The demeanor holds until he rounds the hall corner and lays himself flat against the wall, hands flexing into fists. Nothing. No movement, no weird noises, no damage around the door, just their regular ugly entryway wall paper and a narrow view of the kitchen. Maybe- maybe Jared just didn’t shut it all the way when he got home.

He twists slowly, turning to the wall and sliding out far enough to get a quick look down the hall.

Still nothing, alright then.

Moving slowly down the hall, he makes his way back to the door. It swings open with a shove, silent on freshly greased hinges. He catches himself nearly calling out, forming Jared’s name with his lips before he realizes what he’s doing. Fuck. A weapon, why doesn’t he have a weapon? He’d stopped carrying a knife months ago, he hadn’t even decided to, it just stopped being something he made sure of every day. _Stupid._

His movements stay slow and even as he slips along the hall to the kitchen. The room is empty except for an open bag of chips on the counter. He’s just about to the living room entry when the chips catch his eye again. They’re his favourite kind, the ones he asked about when he called earlier. The ones Jared doesn’t like at all. Open.

Right.

The hiss of metal against wood seems strikingly loud as he steps back, pulling a butcher knife out of the block before retracing his steps to the living room.

He thinks it’s blood at first, the wide, dark stain he finds when he steps into the room. The sight sets a slam of cold deep in his bones, but he remembers the coppery tang of blood in the air and that smell is nowhere to be found here. Even so, it takes several deliberately steady breaths before he can convince his feet to move and his eyes to look away and check the rest of the room.

Not much is out of place, he sees that right away. But what is out of place isn’t good. The stain is lined with thick shards of broken glass on one side, another sign that whatever it is didn’t come out of a person. The angle of the couch is off, like it’s been shoved, and the computer chair is away from the desk, twisted to face out. The carpet in the middle of the room, some decorative thing that was on sale one time, is messed up on one side, all bunched into waves. Big things were moving in here.

The rest of the apartment is empty. He checks it quickly, moving from room to room before returning to the living room. It’s not a very thorough job, he knows, but behind a wall of calm competence, panic is building inside him.

Mindful of the glass, he kneels by the stain and touches two careful fingers to it. It smells sweet and he can already feel the liquid drying tacky on his fingers. Sticky. With that and the glass, it’s gotta be soda. Jared drinks too much of that shit. He doesn’t realize he’s pressing his fist hard into the carpet until the cold liquid starts oozing up between his fingers.

“ _Fuck_.” This is- he never should have come here. Never should have stayed. He _knew_ they’d find him, why did he- Jared- fuck!

“Okay. Okay.” He stands, shaking the ache in his hand out and moving around the room, flat side of the butcher knife tapping restlessly against his leg. Can’t jump to conclusions yet. Maybe... there’s glass, maybe Jared cut himself and had to go to the hospital. Maybe he got bad news and had to leave in a hurry. Maybe he suddenly developed a taste for Jensen’s chips and forgot to tell-

Wait.

This is Jared, he never forgets to tell Jensen things and he _always calls_.

Jensen rushes to the phone, relief flooding him as he sees the little red ‘message’ light flashing. He stabs a finger against the button.

“Hello Mr... Jones? Really? Alright.”

Jensen freezes, jaw clenching and releasing as he stares at the answering machine. It’s not Jared.

“This is Mr. Sheppard. I’m an acquaintance of some acquaintances of yours. Now, I stopped by earlier but no one one home, I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in anyway.”

The voice is male with an English accent, a little rough but calm and even. Jensen’s nails bite into his palms.

“Lovely place, by the way, very well cared for. Clean. Anyway, I... borrowed something from you.”

His stomach drops at the confirmation, arm pressing into the wall behind the phone as his body sags forward. What else can it be but confirmation?

“Took some doing, big as it was. I hope to return it relatively undamaged but, well, accidents happen as I’m sure you can see. I did mean to clean that glass up but time got away from me. What was I... oh! Right, borrowed. Now, I’m also told that you can answer a few questions I have so I think it might be best to get it all done at once, don’t you? You can help me out with my questions, I can get your property back to you _nearly_ good as new and then... I don’t know, lunch?”

A snarl curls Jensen’s mouth into a sour twist and the urge to talk to the voice, to tell it in sharp detail exactly what he wants to do to it, is nearly insurmountable.

“It’s best if we talk man to man about this. Why don’t I call you later and we can work something out? Oh, and I’m sure I don’t actually have to say this, but I think discretion would be a very good idea on your part. No point in getting anyone else involved in such personal business.”

“Oh I will fucking _end_ your personal business.” Apparently the urge wasn’t so much ‘nearly insurmountable’ as ‘totally insurmountable’. The blade of the kitchen knife curves with tension as he grinds it tip first into the lacquered finish of the table top.

“Well. I guess this is goodbye for now. I’ve got some company to say hello to and you should probably see about that glass. Have a lovely evening, Mr. _Jones_.”

Jensen stares at the message light, dead and unblinking now, as the click of an ended call echoes in his head. He should listen to it again, look for details, anything could be important, but he can’t move, like he’s made of stone.

 _Jared._

Movement, when it comes, is explosive.

“ _Fuck!_ ” His arm, knife still in hand, sweeps across the table so suddenly and violently that it surprises even him, sending a lamp and that ceramic bird statue thing from Jared’s mother crashing to the floor. The knife, tangled in the fabric of the lamp shade, twists free of his hand but he barely notices as he turns and slams his other fist into the wall with a tearing yell.

“Mother _fucker_!”

Damn, his hand hurts. But that’s good, maybe. He concentrates on the pain, pulling his fist away from the wall (not out of, at least the walls are built strong here) and opening it, sending burning waves of pain up his palm.

Okay.

He can’t just wait for this Sheppard guy to call and then meekly slink off to whatever meeting he wants to have. It doesn’t work that way. Once they’ve got their hands on him, he isn’t coming back.

He could run.

Every part of him flinches at the thought, however fleeting it was, his shame like a physical force squeezing his eyes shut. He can’t leave Jared. It’s not even something he’s trying to convince himself of, it’s just- it just is. He doesn’t know why or how or what the fuck he was thinking, falling for someone so completely but... there it is.

Or there it was. However this ends now, Jared’s going to know. Jared, who won’t even lie to his fucking landlord, Jared is going to know that every single moment they’ve known each other, Jensen’s been lying. Fuck.

Well, Jensen’s got to find him first before that’s a problem, anyway. Somehow. His eyes flick around the room, taking in the glass and the shifted furniture, the quiet phone. He’s just noticing their bookshelves, frowning at the new gaps there that he had missed before, when it comes to him.

Jim.

He’s in the bedroom in seconds, the rush of a plan driving his momentum as he skids to his knees inside the closet. Shoe boxes and gym bags bounce off the bed as he tosses them over his shoulder. What he’s looking for is in the corner, a black plastic bag underneath another black plastic bag full of what he told Jared were his ‘skiing clothes’. Like he’s ever been skiing in his life. He’s pretty sure the thick winter coat in there still has a tag on it. Thank God for Jared’s trusting nature.

Yeah, ‘thank God’.

His hand twists in the plastic, pulling stretched out holes through it. If Jared hadn’t trusted him, taken him at his word even when his word was ‘don’t ask’, maybe he wouldn’t be-

Jensen sighs a short, harsh breath out his nose, cutting off that line of thought. Too late now.

A cell phone and a bundle of cloth roll out past each other as he shakes the bag out over their bed.

He opens the phone one handed, unrolling the cloth with his other to reveal a box of ammo and the dull metal shine of a gun. His hand wraps around the grip easily, molding to it perfectly. Like riding a bike, you never forget how to hold one.

There’s not much of a contact list to scroll though on the phone. No names, one entry. Just two letters that read ‘JB’. He hits ‘talk’.

The ring sounds in his ear a dozen times, his hand going tighter around the grip of the revolver with each ring until a gruff, mistrustful voice answers.

“Who’s this?”

His eyes close in relief. “Jim.”

“... Jay? If that’s you, you sound like shit.”

“Yeah, it’s- yeah. Jim, they fuckin’ found me.” He does sound like shit, voice gone sand-grit dry.

There’s a pause on the other end, then an irritated snort. “Guess that’s been coming. Is there something in particular you want me to do about it? Send flowers to your _beau_ , there? You remember the last time I helped you, ri-”

“They _took_ him.”

Another pause, this one with a heavy sigh at the end. “Shit.”

Jensen runs a hand over his face, giving in to exhaustion for a moment. He’d come home bone-tired from work and it looked like he was going to have to ride those last dregs of energy for a lot longer yet. There’s going to be one fuck of a bill to pay at the end of this.

“Please, Jim, I need to know who’s got him. And where. I can’t... You know they won’t stick with whatever deal I make. I’m dead if I believe that. Jared’s d-” His throat locks up around the word, choking on it. In any other state of mind, he might be embarrassed.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Suddenly, Jim sounds as tired as Jensen feels, low and farther away than... wherever he is. Jensen doesn’t know where he lives any more. Probably for the best.

A burst of restless energy drives Jensen to his feet and sends him pacing to the closet and back. “One of your guys has to know something, high up as you’ve got them.”

“I don’t have guys anymore, Jay. You know that.”

He does. Jim hasn’t been an official face of undercover law enforcement for years now, not since he was ‘persuaded’ to quit over some bullshit about corruption (ha, right, _Jim_ ). But Jensen knows something else, too.

“Come on, Jim. They’ll always be your guys. Even when you’re dead in the ground, they’ll still be your fucking guys. I need help, man. I _need_ it.”

The next pause goes on so long, Jensen is about to check if the line is still open when Jim finally answers. A layer of tension falls off Jensen when he does. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Jesus, yes, thank y-”

“I am _not_ promising anything. Just... give me an hour before you run off stupid. I’ll call you back. Can you manage that?”

“Yeah. Yes, definitely. Jim, I...” He doesn’t know what to say. Thank you doesn’t really cover it, not for how far and how often Jim Beaver has put his neck on the line for him with no reward other than the knowledge of one more person away from that life. Thank you isn’t even close.

“Yeah, yeah. An hour, got it?”

Jensen gives his assent again before hanging up, arm going limp at his side. An hour. An hour he can’t afford with maybe nothing on the other end of it except Jim’s apologetic voice. Fuck. Well, he can at least be ready to move. He’ll need more ammo for sure. Good thing Wal-Mart is open all night.

 

*********

 

The first thing that registers is the smell, a rusty metallic tang with undertones of dust and rot that puts Jared in mind of an old scrapyard he used to work at, full of the stripped down husks of cars and appliances. He follows the scent into consciousness, wrinkling his nose against it.

His hair is in his face, tickling at his cheeks. He raises a hand to brush it back but something... something isn’t right. Something is snagging at his arm, holding it down. He jerks into full awareness at the sensation. Pain, dulled until now by semi-consciousness, explodes into the forefront.

“Hey! Looks like someone’s stirring.”

Memories start surfacing as his eyes fly open, the harsh flood of an overhead light making him squeeze them shut again with a grimace. He’d been home, right? On the phone with Jensen and then... the living room, something happened in the living room. There had been pain, and then the floor and a voice. An accented voice. _That_ voice. Something touches his head and he twists away with a yell.

“Oh come on, I barely touched you.”

Eyes darting around the room, he sees it all in a panic, flashes of a dirty looking office, yellow walls with broken furniture shoved against them, bare floor with glue patches where a carpet used to be. He sees his own arms tied to the arms of a chair with rope, the same rope that winds around his legs, binding them tightly.

But most of his attention goes to the man standing at his side, watching with a patient smile as Jared stares up at him.

The man reaches for him with a square of crumpled cloth in his hand and Jared jolts back again, straining at the ropes. With an exaggerated sigh, the man lets his arm fall back to his side. “It’s just water. Look.” He brings the cloth up to his face, sniffing at it noisily. “See?”

Jared ducks his head violently as the man reaches for him a third time. “No! What-” His voice cracks dryly and he grimaces at the chemical taste in his mouth as he tries to lick some moisture into it. “What the hell is going on!”

“Fine.” The man ignores the question and steps away with a shrug, tossing the cloth onto a nearby table. “Just trying to help you with that nasty bump.” He’s English, smaller and older than Jared and he would look fairly non-threatening in his black sweater and jeans if it wasn’t for the gun holster over his shoulder. Jesus, what the fuck is going on that he’s got someone who carries around a _gun_ tying him up?

Jared pulls at the ropes again, testing them but finding no give. “What’s going on? Why- what do you want with me?” Maybe if he knew a trick to it, but what the hell does he know about ropes? The most he and Jensen have ever done is handcuffs, and the cheap pieces of shit broke in an hour. Oh, fuck, _Jen_. How long was he out for? What if Jensen came home while he was, what, taken? Kidnapped? Who is this guy any way?

The man lifts himself onto the table with a little hop, legs hanging over the edge. He smiles cheerfully. “Good news first, hm? I don’t want a thing from you.” Jared stops tugging at the restraints, staring at him in confusion. “You’re more like a, mm.” His hand makes a contemplative circle in the air before pointing at Jared. “An incentive! You are an incentive. And if you sit quietly and do what I say, everything will be fine.” He spreads his hands apart when he’s done talking, as if to say ‘ta-da!’

Incredulous, Jared stares. “Incentive for _what_?”

“Good God you ask a lot if questions, don’t you? Sit _quietly_ , I said.” The man picks up a black book from the table, flipping through its pages. “Besides, you’re all out of order, you’re supposed to ask who I am, next.” He looks up, giving Jared a sneaky wink and whispering, like they’re best friends or something. “There’s this whole script, see. So, go on.”

Jared’s jaw tenses with irritation. “Okay.” It’s not enough that he’s lost, tied up and scared shitless; now he has to feel like he’s being played with too. And has to play along because he has no idea what will happen if he doesn’t. “Who are you?”

The man gives him a thumbs up and Jared barely keeps from rolling his eyes.

“Good! My name is Mr. Sheppard. You can call me...” He shrugs. “Mr. Sheppard. I’m, uh, you could say I’m a contractor and I’ve recently been offered a substantial amount of money to find the answers to certain questions.”

“I don’t... what questions?” The chair creaks when Jared sags against it and he winces as his head knocks off of something behind him. Twisting, he sees a metal pole extending to the roof, one of the room’s supports. The chair must be tied to it. “Look.” He turns back to Sheppard (he is _not_ calling him Mister). “Whatever this is about, it seems sort of shady and I seriously don’t even know what kind of questions I could answer. Maybe you’ve got the wrong guy?”

“Unless you’re Jared Padalecki’s evil twin, then no, I haven’t.” Sheppard puts the book down and jumps off the table, heading to a shelving unit tipped against one wall. Dust puffs up into the air as he retrieves a large manila envelope from one of the shelves. “Like I said, it’s not you.” The desk squeaks as he hops back onto it and pulls out a large sheet of paper, turning it to face Jared.

It looks so different from the man he knows that Jared doesn’t even register it at first, all he sees is a mugshot of some young, dirty-looking guy. His confusion nets him a few seconds to gather himself when he realizes that it’s _Jensen_ in the picture. Younger and sharper, narrower; but still the same nose, same eyes, the same perfect mouth. He has a black eye in the picture, a split lip and a freshly stitched wound on his jaw. A wound in the same place as a scar he’d said came from falling into a glass table as a child. He looks like a total punk, full of sneering belligerence in a hollow, hungry face.

He’s pretty sure it’s the only picture he’s seen of Jensen from before they met.

It takes some effort, but he keeps the shock from registering on his face long enough to give Sheppard a confused look. Maybe he can bluff his way out.

“Oh _please_ don’t pretend you don’t know him, it demeans us both.” Sheppard rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically, lifting up the book he’d been flipping through.

As the cover comes into view, shiny black material with the word ‘PHOTO’ embossed in the center, Jared scowls. “Hey! You stole that!”

It’s theirs. Or his, anyway. Growing up, Jared’s family had always been a little snapshot nuts; shelves full of photo albums, letters and e-mails loaded down with pictures. He carried on the tradition proudly.

Jensen, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. He’d made it known early on that, while he didn’t mind having his picture taken, he was very uncomfortable with them being put up anywhere in public. So Jared stuck them into photo albums instead, figuring Jensen’s need for privacy was more of a charming (to Jared, at least) personality quirk than anything else.

“I did steal it, yes. Though if you don’t like people who steal things, then you’re probably going to get some bad news in the next little bit.” Jared clamps down on another outburst of anger as Sheppard opens the album again, slipping one of the photos out of its sleeve. He holds it out to Jared. “I think this one’s my favorite. I’m jealous really, I don’t think anyone’s ever looked at _me_ that way.”

It’s one of Jared’s favourites too; a candid picture of them both sitting together and laughing, Jensen with a hand lifted to cover his grin, all his attention on Jared. Seeing it in Sheppard’s hand fills him with sick anger. He turns his head, focusing on a crack running down a distant wall.

“Oh, now you’re happy to be quiet. Of course. Anyway, if it wasn’t clear, I have some issues to discuss with your boyfriend. From what I’ve learned about him, he’s going to need a damn good reason to talk to me.”

Jared turns back, gaze moving from the picture of the two of them to the mugshot he can just see on the desk. “Me.” The dread that’s been curling through his stomach amps up another notch. “I’m a hostage.”

“‘Fraid so, yes. See, your man, _’Jensen’_... ” Sheppard pulls his legs onto the table and sits cross legged, holding his hands up in a set of air quotes on Jensen's name. “He used to work for the same people that hired me. Though work isn’t really the right word. I think they see it as more of a family thing.” He rubs a hand along the stubble darkening his chin. “I’m not really a part of it all, you understand.” He gives Jared another conspiratorial wink. “More like a naughty neighbour who happens to be getting well paid.”

The need to know, to ask, outweighs how little Jared wants to encourage Sheppard. “What do they want?”

“Money, mostly.” Sheppard shrugs. “Also some closure to their feelings of deep anger and betrayal, not that those were the words they used. Your man took the money and ran years ago, apparently.”

“He stole from them?”

“He stole from a _lot_ of people, actually.” The desk creaks as Sheppard slides off of it again, leaning against the edge. He’s an energetic kind of guy. “I would’ve brought it if I’d been thinking but you’ll have to take my word for it that his police record is _extensive_. Drugs, thievery, weapons charges, _vicious_ gang violence, even a few cases of arson. And I’m sad to say a murder charge or two. No convictions there, but then, with who he was connected to, he didn’t get convicted for a lot of things.”

Jared grits his teeth behind a thin smile, glaring. “I’ve got no reason to believe you.”

“No, I suppose not.” Sheppard nods to himself before raising an eyebrow at Jared. “But you do.”

The thing of it is, he’s starting to. Maybe not the details, but more and more he’s starting to see how the basic idea fits. He’d always known there was something in Jensen’s past, not even the shyest person is that closed off about where they came from. But he‘d assumed it was something... different, not like this. Like maybe he had family problems or money problems or something else he was embarrassed about. Something he would talk about eventually, in time. Jared had never pushed, believing it would be better for them both to let Jensen have that time.

And truthfully, it was another one of those things that he _shouldn’t_ like, but did. Having a boyfriend with a ‘mysterious past’. In his most truthful moments, he could even admit that it made things... interesting.

But this is a little more interesting than he’d bargained for.

“Look.” Sheppard lays a hand on his shoulder, pulling him out of his brooding. Jared shakes it off with a sour grimace. “I _am_ sorry. He’s a bad man who’s done bad things and he has bad men after him. You don’t deserve to be here more than any other person, but it is what it is.”

Flustered over how Sheppard’s touch and words have gotten to him, Jared glares balefully up at him. “I’m sure you’re really torn up about it. How do you know this will work? If he’s a ‘bad man’ who’s been lying to me all this time, how do you even know he’ll care enough to do what you want? He could be halfway out of the state by now.” It was just supposed to be combative, trying to get under Sheppard’s skin the way he got under Jared’s, but in reality Jensen _could_ be halfway out of the state by now. Jared curls forward in the chair, trying not to think about it.

“Yeah, I’d considered that. But-” A ring interrupts him, the shrill tone reminding Jared of the dull pain in his skull. Sheppard continues as he pulls a phone out of his pocket, frowning at the screen.”Hmm. But after some observation, I came to the conclusion that you’re pretty much the key here. If I have you, I have him.” He looks up from the phone, giving Jared a quick smile before he starts to gather up the items on the desk.

“You’ve been _watching_ us?” Jared’s voice comes out horrified, the sudden knowledge of this breach of their privacy leaving him defenseless.

Sheppard shrugs. “Criminal, remember? It’s not my fault you two go at it like rabbits every chance you get. I have to say, though, you’ve got some serious stamina.” He walks to the back shelf, ignoring Jared seething behind him as he replaces the album and envelope. “That’s why I drugged you instead of just knocking you cold. _Very_ useful intel.”

“You-” He can’t even speak for a moment, rage blocking his tongue. “You’re _disgusting!_ ”

Sheppard gives him a wounded look. “That’s uncalled for, I was just doing my job.”

“Your-” Jared gets another angry word in before Sheppard cuts him off.

“I’m afraid I can’t stay to discuss the morals of criminality, Mr. Padalecki. I’ve got a little something to take care of.” He waves the phone at Jared in demonstration. “Sit tight!”

“Wait, you-” Jared wrenches himself in the chair, trying to turn as Sheppard walks past him, presumably to where the door is. “You can’t just leave me here! Hey!” Behind him, he hears the low mumble of voices, cut off by the slam of a solid sounding door. “ _Hey!_ ”

Nothing.

 _Shit._

Alone, panic starts to set in. What if they kill him? How long will Sheppard leave him here? What if no one comes back? His hands make tight fists as he tries to keep control, fighting against the panic and the growing, claustrophobic anxiety from being tied down.

What if Jensen does run away?

Jared tucks his chin against his chest, pulling in slow, calming breaths. He can’t think like that. Whatever happened in the past, why would Jensen make this whole life with him if he didn’t mean it? It would’ve been safer not to. So he must care. He has to. And where ever they have Jared, whatever remote place this is-

Wait.

Why would Sheppard care so much about him being quiet? Not that he’d _seemed_ really concerned about it, but he’d repeated it enough. Maybe they weren’t as off the map as it seemed like. Maybe someone might hear him.

Jared sucks in another breath, much deeper this time.

Only one way to find out.

 

**********

 

Jim Beaver is good at what he does. He calls Jensen back in thirty five and a half minutes (not that he was timing it) with everything he needs to know. Jared is being held at an old machine rental place in the industrial district, by some guy named Mark that Jensen’s never heard of. It wasn’t unknown for the people he used to work for to hire outside the gang, but it still surprises him, he thought for sure they’d want a personal touch here. Especially considering the last piece of info Jim gives him before he hangs up.

“You were right, they’ve got a kill order on you regardless of if you give up that money or not. Watch yourself, okay? You know if I was anywhere near there...”

Yeah, he knows. Despite the attitude, Jim would be sitting right beside him if he could. Jensen's never known a better friend who wasn’t either dead by now or Jared.

It’s just past dusk when he gets there, still a little light so he stops the car a few buildings away, parking it on the other side of some dumpsters where it should go unnoticed. He’s as prepared as he can be, under the circumstances, with no real knowledge of the building’s layout and no idea how many people he’s dealing with. But even if there’s a dozen guys in there, he doesn’t have the luxury of packing heavy. Speed is going to be the name of the game here; he’s going in with just his gun, a wicked looking hunting knife, and a set of brass knuckles stuffed into his coat pocket. He’d been keeping the latter under the manual in his glove box, confident in the knowledge that Jared _never_ looks at manuals.

There’s a distinct lack of, well, everything between the car and the shop; no movement, no people, no real traffic either. Jensen’s not sure if he should be happy about that or not as he makes his way down the street, sticking near walls and avoiding any light he can. On the one hand, it’s no trouble to make it to the side of the building unopposed, but on the other, it might have made things easier if he’d been able to cut down the number of people he had to deal with on the way there.

Not that he’s sure just how he’s going to ‘deal’ with them. He hasn’t hurt anyone in a long time now, but he can feel it buzzing just under his skin; that mix of fear, anger and adrenaline that will let him do what he has to.

He creeps along to the corner of the building, kneeling down to take a quick look around it. Two men are at the back door, the red, pinpoint glow of a cigarette passing between them. If there was just one, he could probably rush him, it’s close enough. With two, though? No way. But there _is_ an overhead door back along the wall behind him that must have had a run in with a truck once, leaving a dent that keeps it from closing all the way. It’s not much of a gap, but Jensen figures he can squeeze through it. Maybe.

He has to take his time and toss his jacket under ahead of himself, but he does barely fit, wriggling under the rubber-lined edge of the door while trying desperately to minimize noise. If anyone hears him and decides to check things out, he’ll be completely fucked. Pinned here like a bug. Luck’s with him, though, and there’s no sign of life other than a single, distant murmur of voices.

On the other side, he slips his coat back on and crouches against one of the high sides of a concrete ramp, checking the place out. Most of the front end is dark but enough of the back space is lit up by flickering fluorescents that it should be easy work with. It’s bigger than he’d figured; mostly open, with the rusted carcasses of old tools and equipment littering the floor. Big metal racks, used for storing smaller tools, look like his best bet for getting around unseen.

As he’s crawling up the ramp, the electronic ring of a phone sounds out to his right. He scrambles back, tucking into the shadows against the door just as echoing footsteps make their way toward him.

“Yeah? … Hey … Uh huh, no, nothing here. What- … uh huh.”

The voice sounds female but they stop just before the ramp, a dark figure barely showing through a rack of chains.

“Yeah. Anderson is up there now … Not anymore … I don’t know, but he sure stopped makin’ noise once Anderson went in there.”

The figure laughs and Jensen grits his teeth, nails digging at the concrete wall. He has definite suspicions about who ‘he’ might be.

“I’m heading back there now, I’ll let them know you’re-… _Yeah_ Meding is watching the front still, Jesus … alright, b-”

The person hisses in irritation as they flip their phone shut. Pressed hard against the wall, Jensen holds his breath as they start moving again, passing by the top of the ramp. It’s a woman, brunette, with a thickness that speaks to some definite muscles under her jacket. She walks by with quick steps, muttering something about _’micro-managing pricks’_ and never even looking in his direction. Soon after, he hears multiple voices coming from the back. She must be talking to the other guards.

So with her, those two at the back, Meding at the front and Anderson somewhere else, that means at least five to deal with. Plus the person on the phone who must be Sheppard. It sounded like he might be on his way here, but still, six is pretty manageable.

After the woman is gone, Jensen moves quickly, lifting himself over the low wall and edging behind one of the racks. From here, he has a better view of the front area, a long desk in front of a bunch of narrow rows of shelving. Behind that, a staircase leads up to a railed platform outside a room on metal pillars. It must be a manager’s office or something, lifted up for the extra storage underneath.

Movement catches Jensen’s eye. There’s a man sitting by the door up there, tilting his chair against the back railing while he toys with something in his hands. Hello, Mr. Anderson.

It’s a quick squeeze behind another section of racks and a heart-stopping few steps in the open before he’s scaling the shadowed supports under the platform, inching up to take a look. Anderson is right in front of him, rocking on the back legs of his chair. Jensen could reach out right now and give the chair legs a good shove if he wanted to, they’re close enough. Instead, he pulls himself up slowly, muscles burning with the effort to stay smooth and silent, and slips one leg through the railings to brace himself. His hand creeps into his coat pocket, fingers threading through the holes in the brass knuckles.

One sharp strike to the back of his head is enough to bring Anderson down like a sack of potatoes. Jensen barely holds on to his tenuous balance as he throws an arm around Anderson's shoulders, holding him in the chair while Jensen climbs over the railing and guides him silently to the floor. He crouches there beside the prone body, fingers pressed against the neck. Still alive. He checks the eyes quickly, prying one lid up. Definitely out for the count. Goodbye, Mr. Anderson.

Out on the main floor, nothing moves. Still, there’s no way to be sure how long he has or just what... His thoughts falter, eyes drawn back to the office door. No way to know for sure what he’ll find on the other side.

Up till now he’d been on automatic. Moving and planning and thinking by instinct more than anything else, rote memorization. But now that strange freeze is back, locking his muscles.They’re guarding _something_ , but what if Jim was wrong? It could happen. Maybe. If Jared’s not here, then...

He has to be here.

Jensen forces himself to stand and press against the wall beside the door, listening. There’s nothing to hear, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. The gun is in his hand before he thinks about it, held against his chest as he wraps his fingers around the door knob. A count starts in his head. Three... two... one... now!

His first impression is beige. Then walls, shelves, desks and floor all register at once. The room is empty except for a figure sitting against a support beam in the middle, facing away. At his entrance, the figure jerks upright with a guttural noise, hair flying side to side as they fight to get a glimpse of him.

Jensen would know the flop of that hair anywhere.

He’s at Jared’s side in an instant, kneeling down as Jared bucks away from the sudden movement with a muffled yell.

“Shh! It’s me! It’s me.”

Jared freezes, staring down at him with shocked eyes. His mouth works around the thick cloth tied between his teeth, stringing vowels together that sound vaguely like Jensen’s name.

They gagged him. Mother _fuckers_.

“Yeah. Yeah, baby, it’s me.” The need to touch is too hard to fight, it sets his palms running over the tension-hard muscles in Jared’s arms, across the rope binding him to the chair and up. Up over his neck, where drying sweat leaves his skin tacky, to cup against his jaw and pull him down as Jensen surges up, pressing their mouths together. It’s like a parody of a kiss with the gag in the way, but he doesn’t care, he just... has to.

When he pulls back, Jared is still staring it him, expression hard to read around the gag. Jensen threads his fingers up, pushing the bangs out of Jared’s face. “You okay?” It’s possible he deserves the disbelieving look Jared gives him for that. “Okay, sorry, just give me a sec.”

He pulls the knife out from under his coat, surprised when Jared readily turns his head and presents the side of the gag. Jensen had been expecting a little more wariness than this. Maybe no one told Jared anything yet. For a moment he considers not telling him anything either, if that’s the case. But, fuck, he’s done enough lying now.

“Don’t move.” The knife slides between cloth and skin with a whisper, tip bobbing as Jensen drags the serrated edge forward, sawing through the gag at the corner of Jared’s mouth. It falls to the floor as Jared works spit back into his mouth with a grimace. Jensen’s thumb traces the abused looking corner of his lips. “Are you hurt?”

“N-” Jared stops, hoarse voice catching with a dry click. “No. Well. They hit my head and knocked me out with some kind of chemical but... I’m okay. I think. Little woozy.”

Jensen nods, face tight as his fingers search Jared’s hair, skirting lightly over a lump just below the crown of his skull. It’s in the same place Jensen had hit to pound the consciousness out of Anderson. Dangerous spot.

“That’s it?” He pulls his hands back reluctantly and starts cutting through the ropes around the chair. They have to get moving.

Jared nods, watching.

“What about the gag?”

“Oh.” Jared is smirking a little when Jensen looks up, and rubbing the tingles out of his hands. “I was yelling for help. I guess it annoyed the guy watching me. Where are we any way, J-”

Jensen looks up again as Jared’s voice cuts off. His face is drawn into a frown, troubled and distant, turned away.

“Jared?”

“Is that your real name?”

Oh.

No answer comes even as Jensen opens his mouth, he’s muted by the wistful resignation in Jared’s voice. He doesn’t know what to say or how he’ll stop talking once he starts. Or what he’ll do if he can’t wipe that look off Jared’s face. “I- Jared, I know...” He turns his head down, distracting himself with the ropes. Maybe it’ll be easier if he doesn’t have to look. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but... it’s Jensen. That's my real name. When I- Back then-” He halts, eyes squeezing shut for a second. “Everyone just called me Jay. And eventually that’s what they all thought my name was.”

“Jensen Jones?” The dubious tone makes Jensen wince.

“... Ackles. Jensen Ackles.”

“Ackles.” Jared says the name like he’s tasting it and Jensen can’t help a tiny smile. It’s nice to hear his real name again, especially on Jared’s lips. He savours it, since that might be the last time he’ll ever hear it. Jared goes on. “Were you ever gonna tell me?”

Jensen’s fingers grip the hilt of the knife and squeeze as he shakes his head ‘no’, still not looking up.

“Why?”

Fuck. Tentatively, not knowing if it’s even welcome, he rests his forehead against Jared’s knee for a moment of comfort. “Because I didn’t want you to know this stuff about me.”

“Oh.” Jared's fingers stroke over the material after he sits up, feeling the warmth from Jensen's skin, smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle. “Will you tell me now?”

Jensen sighs heavily as he pulls the last of the ropes away from the chair. “We don’t really have time right now.” When he lifts his head, their eyes meet for a long moment, Jensen’s pleading to Jared’s searching.

Finally, thankfully, Jared nods. “Okay. Later. What do we do now?”

They move quickly, hauling Jared out of the chair with one or two stumbles as he gets his legs under him. Anderson is still in a heap of limbs by the door, showing no signs of awareness when Jensen grabs him by the legs and hauls him in the room.

They heave him into the chair and half-ass tie him down with whatever rope is still usable. It’s nothing that would fool anyone inside the room, but they’d still have to come _inside_ the room and that, at least, might buy them some time.

He’s about to lead Jared out the door after a few instructions (stay low, no talking, keep behind him) when Jared stops and turns back, rushing to one of the shelves.

“Jared, what- we gotta go!”

“Just a sec!” He pulls something out of a black book that had been sitting on the shelf, tucking it into a pocket before grabbing a large envelope and bringing it over to Jensen. “Here, I think this is all the stuff they have on you. Nice hair, by the way. Weed whacker chic.”

Puzzled, Jensen peeks into the envelope. His own snarling, younger face peers back at him. Oh. “Thanks.”

Once out of the room, they inch down the stairs and follow the nearest wall to the front of the building, sneaking between one set of narrow shelves. At the end of the row, Jensen flattens against one shelf and motions for Jared to do the same before peeking out. The front area is dark, with only the light coming in through a line of tall windows illuminating a lone man sitting on top of the desk. A group of shadows beside him converges into the shape of a long gun as Jensen's eyes adjust to the darkness.

If he can sneak up on this guy, he should be able to take him down like he did Anderson and be long gone out the front door before any of the others realize there’s a problem.

With a finger to his lips, he reaches a hand up to Jared’s chest, pushing him against the shelf. Be quiet, stay here. Jared nods, eyes wide and showing white in the darkness.

With another quick look, Jensen slides the knuckleduster over his fingers and eases out from hiding. He keeps his steps slow but long, covering the distance between them in a few silent seconds. But something, a shadow, a sound, random intuition, makes the guard turn his head.

Shit!

The man makes a startled noise and goes for his gun, some kind of long-barreled semi-automatic, but Jensen is on him before he can grab it, yanking him off the desk in a bear hug, one hand clawed against his mouth to muffle his shouting. They grapple, weaving over the floor until a flash of movement (Jared, stepping out from the shelves, what the fuck is he doing?) distracts Jensen. The man in his arms yanks free and rushes for his gun again. Jensen growls, unsheathing the knife under his jacket. He doesn’t have a choice, and even if he did he doesn’t have the time to make it.

The man arcs back as the blade slides up between his ribs, stretched fingers flailing uselessly at the butt of his weapon. He slides to the floor with one long, gurgling gasp, dead.

Jensen kneels down, pulling his knife free and wiping it clean against the dead man’s shirt. He doesn’t want to look, but his face lifts to Jared’s like a magnet. Jared is wide-eyed and breathing hard. His eyes flick from the body to Jensen, from Jensen to the knife and back again, gaze holding Jensen’s with a mix of awe and fear. He looks like he’s about to speak when a shout rings out in the warehouse behind them. They both jump, breaking apart from their strange staring match.

“Damn it!” Jensen leaps forward, grabbing Jared by the arm and dragging him around the desk to the front door, an all-glass affair to match the wall of windows on either side of it. The locks stick, of fucking course, and more shouts echo behind them, mixed with the sound of running footsteps. “Fuck it.” He twists back, grabbing the dead man’s gun. Not much point in stealth now. “Get back!”

Jared stumbles away from the door as Jensen fires a handful of quick rounds through the glass, shots ear-numbingly loud. The glass crumbles in a shower of glittering chunks that pool at their feet as Jensen pulls Jared through the cleared opening. Outside, he shoves him to the right, yelling as he follows behind. “Go, go, go! Car’s that way!”

At a full out sprint, Jared easily pulls away, passing the corner of the rental building well ahead of Jensen.

The sharp bang of a pistol fills the night and, ahead of him, Jared hits the ground with a yell.

 _No._

“Jared!”

Forcing an extra burst of speed, he passes the corner and spots a figure running down the side of the building toward them. Fuck, _fuck_ , one of them went around, why didn’t he think of that! He raises his stolen weapon and fires in a burst. The figure crumples and rolls to a stop on the asphalt, unmoving.

“Jared!” Jensen is beside him in the blink of an eye, terrified certainty blinding him so much that it takes him a second to realize Jared is moving, struggling to his feet.

“I’m okay! I’m okay.” He staggers up, one hand on Jensen's shoulder, he’s _smiling_ for fuck sake. “Jen, I’m okay, it just scared me. See?” The hand on his shoulder squeezes once and Jensen lets out a shaking breath and a nod before grabbing Jared by the arm, pulling them into a run again.

They’re nearly to the next building when the last two guards burst out of the shop behind them.

 

**********

Being shot at had _more_ than scared Jared. After the crack of the shot being fired, he’d been sure he was done. It had fucking terrified him. But the realization that he isn’t hit, that he’s still alive, now that? That is a _rush._ The dose of adrenaline lifts him, pushing him to match Jensen's pace as they sprint across the parking lot.

Jared reaches the building first, sliding against the wall for some cover as shots fire behind them. Jensen yells at him to keep going so he runs, sticking near the wall and weaving around empty granite planters. More shots, much closer this time, and he spares a second to glance back. Jensen is running more in the open, along the flatter pavement, firing that gun he took from the man he killed ( _killed_ , holy shit) back at their pursuers in rapid bursts.

The wall beside them starts to curve, with weird, pointless outcroppings poking into their path. It probably looks very nice and artistic from a distance but really not helpful now. Jared pushes harder, panting for breath as he pounds ahead, scouting where they’re going. There’s a gap farther up, a tiny path between two separate buildings he sees as he pulls closer. Beyond it, the next building takes a sharp turn in.

“Here!” He veers into the gap, stopping to make sure Jensen follows. Maybe those guys will think they took the turn up ahead.

Jensen flies into the space, careening off a wall even as he waves Jared on. It’s wide enough for them to run side by side, with plain doors dotting both sides. One rattles as Jensen tries the knob on the way by.

“Locked!”

“Should we-?” Jared slows down to try another door.

“No! No time, we can’t try every one. Keep going.” Jensen has him by the arm again, pulling him forward. A quick look back over Jensen’s head shows Jared they’re not being followed yet, their detour must have been missed.

The little alley ends abruptly, spitting them out into the much darker backside of the building. Garbage dumpsters and silent shipping trucks line the wall. It’s slower going, but they make it to the end of the building before there’s any hint of their persuers.

Voices from behind send them into hiding against the side of a dumpster, bodies frozen and breath held. The sound of cursing reaches their ears, but the voices come no closer. Then, faintly, one of them suggests checking the doors.

Beside him, Jensen slumps against the bin. “Thank fuck.” Jared watches in confusion as he eases the dumpster lid up, gingerly sliding the gun he took on top of some oily looking cardboard. Noticing Jared’s puzzled look, he shrugs. “Empty, but I didn’t want to leave it for them to find. Come on, the car’s just at the next place up.”

With one last sprint they’re across the lot and throwing themselves into the car, engine revving and tires squealing as they drive off. Twisting in the passenger’s seat, Jared catches sight of their followers, two distant figures waving their arms in agitated gestures. “Haha! Suck it, you kidnapping dillholes!” He turns back and falls against the seat in a panting slump, grinning hard.

There’s a pregnant pause from Jensen.

“...dillholes?”

“Shut up.”

They share a tentative smile, a familiar intimacy that’s comforting despite the situation.

“Where we going?” It’s still ‘we’, even now. Might not be the best thing for him, but Jared knows that hasn’t changed.

A distracted frown pulls a line between Jensen’s eyebrows. “No idea.”

“I’ve still got the keys to my uncle’s lake house from that house-sitting thing. If we need to ‘hide out’ or something.”

Jensen gives him a long look before turning back to the road, tongue flicking out. He looks nervous, suddenly. “Yeah. That’s- that’ll work. I can drop you off there, should be safe for a while.”

“Drop me _off_?” Affronted, he shifts to face Jensen. He doesn’t seriously think Jared’s going to agree to that, does he? “You’re not leaving me there.”

Lips pursed, Jensen glares at the passing street lights. “You realize you just got shot at, right? And kidnapped? Knocked out?” The look he shoots Jared is almost accusing as they slow down to take a corner. “You are _not_ having the most rational reaction here.”

Jared glares back. “Well I’m sorry I’m not having a fucking breakdown, I guess I- JEN!”

The other car comes out of nowhere, no bright flash of headlights to warn them before it’s broadsiding them, slamming against the driver-side door with a bone-jarring grind of metal on metal that sends Jensen’s body smashing against Jared.

It’s over before he can blink, leaving behind an impression of sound and movement, pain and body-clenching fear, a burst of confusion as the world lurches around them. Whoever said time slows down during car crashes was full of shit.

After, though? Yeah, time slows to a crawl. Even turning his head is like moving through molasses, everything thick and muffled so Jared doesn’t feel the hands on him until a sharp strike stings his cheek.

“Jared!”

The world starts to speed up as the pain of the slap brings him back, head pounding. Jensen is beside him, wide eyed and frantic, like maybe he’s repeated Jared’s name a few times already. He flinches as Jensen brings his hand up again. “I’m here! I’m here... holy fuck, Jen, a car hit us!” He doesn’t miss the relief that fills Jensen’s expression, or the way he stops trembling like a wire ready to snap.

“Yeah, I know, I always take you to the best shows, huh?” They’re still upright, thankfully, but Jensen’s side of the car is bent in and crumpled, crushed enough that the idea of how bad it _could_ have been steals Jared’s breath away. With some jostling, Jensen works Jared's seat belt loose. “Come on, if you can move we gotta get out of here.”

The door on his side still opens, but Jared almost hits the ground when they stumble out, muscles like water. Nothing seems broken, but his whole body feels like it’s been punched.

The sudden bang and ricochet of a bullet has them both diving down behind the car, hands tight in each other’s coats. From the other side, a voice yells.

“I don’t suppose I got either one of you, did I!” It’s Sheppard. Naturally.

Back pressed to the frame of the car, Jensen slides over and peers around the edge. Nervous, Jared inches up behind him, just in time to catch him as another bullet fires and he throws himself backwards.

“Shit, shit, bugger! Go on, poke your pretty face out again!”

Jensen keeps his voice quiet. “He’s stuck, I think. Looks all caught up in the airbag or something. I think we can make a run for it.”

“A _run_ for it?” Jared lowers his voice at Jensen’s protesting frown. “Jen, I’m not even sure I can stand up right now. And he has a gun. I mean, you know, maybe this is all just nostalgic for you, but _gun_.”

Sheppard calls out again. “Oh, come on! Come out, I promise not to shoot you, we can just talk! I know you’re back there still!” They can hear rattles and bangs from Sheppard’s side of the crash, and more irritated curses.

On their side, Jensen rests a hand on Jared’s shoulder, calming him. “You’ll stand up just fine and you’ll run like the fucking wind. Trust me, okay? And he’s really wedged in there. I don’t think his aim is gonna reach much past a few feet on either side. So. Count of three.”

“Jen, wait.”

“One.”

“ _Jen._ ”

“Two.”

“ _Jensen._ ”

The hand on Jared’s shoulder is suddenly behind his head, pulling him forward and down. Jensen’s lips press against his forehead in a crushed kiss that muffles the next word.

“Three!”

Jensen moves first, twisting up and away in a way that might be graceful under other circumstances, boots pounding over the pavement. Jared is slower, shock and fear holding him back for the space of a few heartbeats. But then he’s moving and it’s amazing how much distance they eat up in a few seconds. Sheppard fires more shots behind them, but Jensen was right, they go wide.

With no idea where they’re going and no idea if Jensen knows either, Jared follows blindly. Behind him, he hears more voices join Sheppard’s, the other two hired guns finally catching up. He can barely make out the yells but the snatch of conversation he does catch ( _’not me, you idiots, them, that way!’_ ) can’t be good.

Breathless, he calls out. “Jensen?”

“I know, I heard them, here!” Veering off, Jensen cuts between buildings and leads them to a high chain-link fence blocked with a padlocked gate. A multi-story building looms beyond the fence with a poorly lit sign on the side that reads ‘JM Metalworks’.

With a lift from Jensen’s cupped hands, Jared is up and over the gate in a flash, hitting the gravel heavy on the other side. Jensen climbs up after him, more nimble on the metal links and lighter on his feet when he lands beside Jared in a defensive crouch.

They race towards the building and up to a low window. Jamming the brass knuckles onto his fingers again, Jensen pulls the arm of his coat up over them for padding and punches the glass out of an already cracked and dirty pane, unlatching the window from the inside. It’s a tight squeeze, but they make it through.

Inside, the shapes of huge machines crowd the floor and fill the space with shadows, breaking up the dim, dirty light from the few hanging bulbs that are still lit. They slip through the shadows, footsteps cautious over electrical cords and around stands of hanging, metal sheets. There’s an area under a set of stairs, open, but mostly blocked from view by rows of surplus rebar. They sneak into it and crouch down against the back wall, finally catching their breath.

After a long stretch of silence, Jared risks a tense whisper. “Think we’re safe here?”

Jensen spares him a quick look, otherwise mostly alert and intent on the space outside their hiding spot. “Maybe. They’ll probably know we went to ground someplace near by, but not exactly where.”

More silence. He knows it’s not the time or place for it, but now that they’ve got two seconds to rub together without having to run from anything, Jared has to ask.

“So?”

Jensen glances at him again, distracted. “What?”

“Do we have time now?”

“Time for-? Oh.” Jensen stills with realization and gives Jared his full attention. “Here?”

Jared’s shoes scuff lightly against the floor as he sits down, knees pulled up in front of him. “Well, I’d play something on my phone for entertainment but I think they stole it.” He offers a smirk, but sobers quickly. “Yeah, here. I wanna know. And what if we don’t get another chance?”

A little manipulative, yes, but it certainly stops Jensen short. He joins Jared on the floor, close enough to the opening that he can still keep an eye on their surroundings between giving Jared uneasy, considering looks. His voice is hesitant when it finally comes. “What do you want to know?”

Jared shrugs, face open. “Everything.”

“Funny.”

Jensen’s voice is sarcastic, but Jared can hear the tension underneath it, the uncertainty. He reaches over, curling one hand around Jensen’s hunched shoulder. “It’s okay, just... start at the beginning.”

With low, halting words, Jensen lays out the life Jared never knew he had. How he got started young, how his parents had died and how he’d gone to a city to live with his grandparents. How they raised him just about as badly as they’d raised his mom and how he’d done just about anything to make sure he didn’t have to go back there each night. He’d started out just hanging around the wrong kind of people, idolizing their freedom, but eventually he joined a gang that became more than just a bunch of thieves and druggies under one name.

“What do you mean ‘more than’?”

“Uh, you know, a real organized crime deal. They were- the people at the top, they wished real hard they were some Hollywood style mafia or something. They started wearing suits all the time, meeting in restaurants, called themselves ‘The Chain’. Real smug motherfuckers.”

He goes on, words coming faster now that they’re coming at all. Jared’s not sure he could stop him now if he wanted to. Which he doesn’t, not even a little bit. He can’t believe how Jensen hid all this for so long, but finally hearing it all, it’s like the last wall between them coming down.

Jensen goes on, telling him about how it was good for a while, everything he thought he wanted. But then it got bad.

“It was just... everything.” Jensen pulls his knees up, head bent low. “They started in on some deep shit. I mean... I’m not excusing the stuff I did, but this was bad. Kidnapping and prostitution and the really heavy drugs and just _cold_ murder and... I had to get out, one way or another.”

Those last words put a shiver up Jared’s spine and he’s curious, so curious about what the ‘another way’ was, but he’s afraid he’d be right about the answer. “You didn’t kill people?”

“I-” It almost looks like a reflex, how Jensen’s eyes flinch shut. He leans his head back against the wall behind them, expression fading to a troubled frown.

“... Jen?”

His eyes are distant when they open again, his voice toneless. “Sorry, just... running through all the excuses in my head to see which one I should tell you. Some of them are almost true, too.” His eyes close again, slow like window shades. “Yeah. I did.”

And what the hell does Jared say to that? Not that he hadn’t suspected the answer. Hell, Jensen had killed at least one person just tonight, though that person had been shooting at them at the time. From the far off, haunted look on Jensen’s face, Jared figures that wasn’t always the case. He’s mustering up something to say when Jensen shakes his head a little and fills the silence himself.

“Anyway. So. One day, I found out that one of my buddies there was a plant. Like an actual undercover cop, if you can believe that. Crazy fuck, called himself Misha, and I swear he enjoyed it, you know? Even on top of being undercover, it was like he couldn’t breath right unless he was bullshitting _someone_. Hell, first two months I knew him, I thought he was Russian.”

Jared smothers a laugh in his hand. It’s wild, how different Jensen is when he’s coming clean like this. That last bit was an honest to God _anecdote_ and he can’t think of the last time Jensen told one of those.

“Misha got me in touch with his contact, a guy named Jim Beaver. And Jim got me out. It was during a drug thing. We had the stuff, the other guys had the money. I told Jim everything about it and he fixed it so I could run while they raided the place. Fixed it so I got away with the cash, too.” Jensen shrugs, the corners of his lips tugging down. “That’s part of what they’re after. That money. I don’t know, I guess Jim figured he was doing me a favor, but I left most of it with him. Kept enough to buy myself a new life but... I just... I didn’t like having it.” There must be some kind of confusion on Jared’s face because when Jensen looks over, he laughs bitterly. “I know, right? Who knew you could _grow_ a fucking conscience.”

Jensen lapses into silence then, body hunched and turned away from Jared in a way that drives an ache deep into his chest. It’s not everything, but Jensen’s told him enough that most of the anger in him is flushed out and replaced with sympathy. Especially knowing that Jensen told him not so Jared would feel sorry for him, but because he thought Jared deserved to know. Even if it ended everything they had.

Stupid bastard.

Twisting to the side, Jared curls his hand behind Jensen’s neck, thumb running over the soft skin under his ear as he leans in. The touch brings Jensen’s attention to him just in time for their mouths to meet in a soft kiss. With an astonished hum, Jensen pulls back. His eyes, so close, are wide and soft. Jared opens his mouth to reassure him, but Jensen is pulling him back in again before he can make a sound, both hands reaching up to slide under the base of his skull. His fingers thread in through the hair at the nape of Jared’s neck, tangle and hold as he presses their mouths together, tongue pushing in against Jared’s. Their lips cling as they pull away, panting into each other’s mouths.

Jensen has that wide, deep look again. Jared would call it wonder if the thought didn’t make him feel like squirming in embarrassment. “What was that for?”

See? Stupid bastard. “ _You_ , dumb ass.” That needy, curious look doesn’t fade, though, so Jared elaborates. “Because I love you.”

Jensen looks gobsmacked for a second before he turns away again, trying to pass it off with a strained smile. “Still?” It’s supposed to be jokey, Jared’s sure, but it comes out sort of broken instead.

“Dude. It’s been less than a day since the last time I said that. You think it’s just gonna stop? Poof?”

Hesitantly, slow, like he’s giving something up, Jensen slides along the wall until his head rests against Jared’s shoulder. Sighing, he turns his face and lets Jared’s shirt muffle him. “...best thing that ever happened to me.”

Well, there’s only one answer to that. “Same here.”

Apparently Jensen doesn’t agree, though. He gives another bitter laugh, head shaking against Jared’s shoulder.

“It’s true.” Jared settles his hand on Jensen's knee, squeezing once. “Who you were for them, it doesn’t change who you are for me.” He hadn’t really had a chance to think about it yet, but now, saying it, it _is_ true. Whatever Jensen did back then, he was always this underneath, Jared’s sure of it.

“Tha-” Whatever Jensen was going to say is lost as his body jerks upright, going stiff.

“Jen?” Jared cuts off, stilled by Jensen’s whispered hiss and a tight, warning hand on his thigh. He must have heard something. Jensen's hand goes tight on his leg again, but he doesn’t need the signal, he hears the distant scuffling this time. Damn! They’d been here so long he thought they were in the clear.

Jensen eases his grip and moves away from Jared, quiet as a mouse. He crawls toward a haphazard pile of metal bars shoved under the lowest part of the stairs, probably rejects from the stands of rebar. They scrape against the floor as he grabs two of the shorter bars, hopefully not loud enough to give them away, one for himself and the other extended to Jared. He does have a gun still, Jared's pretty sure, but maybe this is better for the element of surprise or something. That and a tiny, metal lined cubbyhole with only one exit probably isn’t the best place to be trapped in a gun fight.

Armed, crouched against the wall, and as ready as they’re going to get, they wait.

The sound of footsteps gets closer and closer until, just past the nearest hulking piece of machinery, two figures come in to view in one of the dirty yellow pools of light. On Jensen’s wave, Jared follows him out of the little space, both of them crouching low behind the machine. Jared’s sweaty grip on the rod tightens as Jensen sneaks some little piece of metal off the surface; a nut or a screw or something, and throws it into the distance. The two men both turn to the noise and then there’s no time to be sure of anything. Jensen is sprinting around the machine and Jared can only follow.

The first one, longer hair, blue shirt, goes down under the combined force of Jensen’s swing and body, both of them careening into a nearby workbench. His own target, blond, dark coat, turns to him with a surprised gasp. Jared’s already swinging the bar, aiming for the guy’s head, but he catches him in the shoulder instead. Good thing, too. The guy had already been raising his pistol and the strike to his shoulder fucks up his aim; his shot fires wide.

 _”Jared?”_

“I’m good!” He answers Jensen’s panicked yell, but can’t spare a glance for him. His next swing is on target, connecting to the guy’s hands with a crunch, breaking his grip so the gun goes flying. With a pained, frustrated yell, his opponent dives for it. Jared gets to it before him, swinging the piece of rebar like a golf club and sending the gun skittering into the darkness. He follows up with a hard knee into the guy’s side, making him stagger in the other direction while Jared raises his weapon to try for another hit. He never finishes the swing, though, stopped by the reverberating bang of another gunshot behind them.

With a jerking, instinctual spin, he turns around, body locking with fear, heart trying to cram itself into his throat. _Jen._

But Jensen is fine, for a certain definition of it. Not shot any way. He’s struggling with the other guy, shoved up against one of the larger machines bolted to the floor. There’s a gun on the floor beside them; it must be Jensen’s since the guy he’s fighting has his own gun in his hand, pushed to one side in Jensen's straining grip. Jensen has his knife in his other hand, blade trembling as the man shoves it away. They grapple and kick at each other, trying to find a weakness without giving one up. A quick glance and a widening of Jensen’s eyes is all the warning Jared has before the guy he’d been fighting tackles Jared from the side, taking easy advantage of his distraction.

They go down with matching yells, rolling over the floor. Jared loses his grip on the bar as it catches between them, loses his grip on reality for a second as a fist punches into his temple and his vision greys out. His legs wrap around the guy’s waist, muscle memory from a year or so of high school wrestling giving him some control over the fight and enough leverage to flip them over. On top now, head still spinning, Jared slams his elbow into the guy’s chin, snapping his head back. It makes a satisfying crack when his skull collides with the hard concrete floor. He spares a second to look up, searching out Jensen.

It’s not good.

Jensen and the guy he’s fighting are still pressed against the side of that machine, but now the knife and the gun are nowhere in sight. Instead, two hands are wrapped around Jensen's throat, squeezing. Red faced, Jensen struggles, clawing at the hands while his eyes roll back in his head. He needs help. _Now_.

With a roar, Jared throws himself to the side, pulling the man under him into a violent roll. The momentum gives him enough power to heave the man into a stand of tools, knocking the whole thing down in a rattling clamour. Jared is on his feet in a flash, racing towards Jensen. He wraps his arm around the neck of the man attacking Jensen and grabs a handful of his hair, yanking him back in a choke-hold. The man lets go with a yell and falls back against Jared’s chest, knocking them both off balance. They fall to the floor, Jared hitting it flat. The impact knocks his breath out of him and something hard digs sharp pain into his spine; they must have landed on some of the tools he knocked down. It all leaves him dazed, helpless to block a hard elbow ramming into his cheekbone. He cries out as stars burst in his skull, arms falling loose with the pain.

Free, the man on top of him crawls away, moving toward Jensen’s crumpled, coughing form. No, not toward Jensen, toward the discarded knife between them. _Shit_! Head still swimming, Jared fights to clear the fog in his head, but it’s like moving through water, everything slow and distorted. He thinks he yells out but neither of them react and then it’s too late, the guy has Jensen’s knife in his hand and he’s staggering to his feet.

Jensen, breath still ragged in his abused throat, finally comes out of it enough to spot the guy coming at him. He starts crawling away, making for his own fallen pistol. But it’s too far, the guy will be on him before he gets to it. Jared forces himself to his hands and knees but he’s not going to be fast enough either, he can’t make it, he can’t stop-

A gleam by his knee catches his eye. Not a tool, a gun. He was laying on a _gun_.

The shot fires and the recoil is kicking through his arm before he even realises he’s picked it up. Ten feet away, the man drops to his knees with a wet gasp, blood blooming through the back of his shirt. He falls forward over Jensen’s legs, gasps again, and goes still, knife slipping out of his lax grip.

The tip of the gun weaves down and Jared brings it up again with a jerk, aiming at the empty space where the man had been standing, breath coming in hard through his nose. He got him. He _got_ him. He...

Suddenly, Jensen seems to spasm and Jared has the fleeting certainty that the guy still did it somehow, still hurt him. But Jensen is yelling, lifting something in his hand and then something screams past Jared’s ear and drowns out the world with concussive shock, spinning him to one side on reflex. Behind him, the other man, the one he threw into the tool rack, staggers back a step. Blood drips from a crushed, ragged hole in his cheek and his gun, aimed at Jared’s back seconds before, drops from nerveless fingers. He crumples to the floor with a puzzled frown, dead before he hits the ground.

The blood pooling under the man’s head grows as Jared stares in shock, hypnotized by the even spread of it and the strange, rushing sensation in his head, like a roaring wind.

Hands wrap around his trembling wrists some time later, shocking Jared. He starts, pulling his gun back up with a gasp.

“Whoa! It’s okay, it’s just me.” It’s Jensen, pushing his wrists back down. It takes his mind a few seconds to catch up with reality and let his arms go limp. His whole body goes slack, hard tension rushing out until the only thing holding him up is Jensen’s grip and the shaking aftershocks of adrenaline.

Holy shit.

Flexing stiff fingers, Jared eases his cramped grip on the gun and slides it into his pocket with a grimace. It’s a miracle he didn’t shoot himself, or Jensen, or- “I shot someone.” He sounds amazed more than anything else, which is pretty accurate.

“I know, I know you did.” Jensen’s hand moves from Jared’s wrists to his face, skims just below a painful spot on his cheek and down his neck in a reassuring caress. “You had to. You did good.” He pulls Jared to him, forehead to forehead, his hoarse voice filling the space between them. “Holy shit, Jared. You okay?”

Jared nods, and it’s as true as it needs to be. He’s more okay than he should be, probably. Jensen, on the other hand... “You’re hurt.” Wide bruises are already forming on his throat, dark on irritated red. His eyebrow is split and swollen, and blood oozes from a ragged cut on his forehead. Jared touches careful fingers to it, tracing the wound. He looks... _alive_.

Jensen’s cheek quirks up in half a smile. “It’s fine, don’t-” He stops, pulling away with an alert lift to his head. “Shit.”

Sirens wail in the distance, getting louder with each second. All the tension that had been draining away comes back with a rush. “Do we have to run?” He knows the answer before he’s even done asking, considering the mess around them. And back at that place they locked him up in. And the car.

“Yeah” Jensen nods, pulling him to his feet. “Just one more time, I promise. And then we can figure out... I don’t know, something.”

The window works as well for an exit as it did for an entrance and then they’re out and running. Back over the fence as the sirens get closer, over the gravel lot and around the corner of the next building just before red and blue flashes start to light up the area. They move as fast as they can make themselves, sprinting past walls and jumping over concrete barriers, skidding down the high banks of a city street and across, up the other side in a scramble. On the other side, the industrial buildings make way for more of a downtown area; dark windowed stores and run-down office buildings mixed in with the sickly neon of old dive bars.

They slow down to a jog, cutting across streets and between buildings, running until, finally, Jared can’t go on. From the heaving of his lungs to the aching of his muscles, the pounding in his head and the overload of information, it’s all just too much. He stops abruptly in the middle of an alley, barely lit by dim streetlights from either end, and leans against the nearest wall, panting for breath.

Jensen pulls up short a few feet away, turning back. “Jared?”

He holds up a hand from his forward slump, waving away the concern in Jensen's voice. “Sorry, just need a sec. Gotta pull myself together.”

Jensen falls quiet as Jared’s breathing starts to slow and the throb in his skull eases off. Then slow footsteps approach him, a supportive hand curling over his shoulder. “You know you had to, right? He was gonna kill us, you had to shoot him.”

What... oh. Jared straightens up, shoving sweaty bangs out of his face. “No, not- I mean yeah, that sucked.” Definitely sucked, but it’s going to have to be something he deals with later. “It’s just... the crash and the running and my head. Had to stop for a minute.”

“Oh!” Jensen looks relieved for a split second before his face clouds over with worry and irritation. “You said you were okay.” Strong hands are on Jared before he can blink, turning him by the jaw while Jensen lifts up on his toes for a closer look.

“I am. I’m okay, I just needed- ow!” Jared tries to fend him off, but it’s a losing battle as Jensen pokes around the goose egg on his head, knocking Jared’s hands away when he tries to protect himself. “Ow, will you-” His hands get pushed back again and Jared lets them fall to his sides in surrender. “You could at least be a little more careful if you think it’s that bad, damn.”

“Just shut up for a minute and let me see.” Jensen frowns in concentration, feeling around the tender skin under Jared’s hair. There’s not exactly huge amounts of light here, so Jared’s not even sure there’s much point to it, but he keeps still under Jensen’s fingers all the same, head lowered. After a few more pokes and prods, admittedly gentler this time, Jensen’s hands slide around to the front of Jared’s face, thumbs pulling down on the delicate skin under his eyes to open them wider.

Blinking reflexively against the stretch, Jared stares in bewilderment as Jensen peers into his eyes, turning his head this way and that. An amused grin threatens to break free. “Do you even know what you’re looking for, Doctor Back-alley?” He rolls his eyes and reaches up to pull at Jensen’s wrists, shaking his head as Jensen lets go with a huffy sigh. “Jen, I swear, I’m okay. Not great, but I’ll be fine.”

Jensen looks away with a bullish frown. “Yeah, alright. Fine.”

He says it, but Jared’s pretty sure Jensen’s far from fine. He seems restless, twitchy, and angrier than the exchange really calls for. Maybe it’s worry, maybe it’s all the action finally catching up with him, everything hitting home at once and leaving him spinning. Whatever it is that has Jensen grumbling and running a frustrated hand through his hair, it pulls at Jared, compels him to reach out and wrap his hand around Jensen’s wrist again.

“Hey.” His voice soft and low, he squeezes Jensen’s wrist once, reassuring. “Really. I’m good.” Jensen looks up again, something lost and scared hiding deep in his eyes. Jared smiles. “You did it, okay? You got me.”

Jensen sucks in a breath and nods on the exhale, looking more embarrassed than anything else now, in the face of Jared’s sincerity. But he loses that lost look at least, all that Jared wanted in the first place. He knows he can get more, though, because whatever Jensen might think, Jared still knows him better than anything. He pulls Jensen’s hand to his chest, clutching it tightly in two fists, torso heaving like something out of a romance novel. Breathless, he bats his eyelashes. “You’re my hero!”

With a barking laugh, Jensen yanks his hand away. “Jesus _Christ_.” He’s still laughing, that wide mouthed, full body laugh that Jared likes best. “I fucking hate you sometimes, I really do.”

Swooping in for a quick kiss, Jared smiles against his lips. Because yeah, he just wanted to get Jensen laughing, but he kinda meant it, too. Sinking down a little more, he presses his mouth to Jensen’s again, slower this time, sweeter. Sweet enough that it’s a surprise when Jensen surges up against him.

It’s sort of a weird place to be making out, and Jared’s head still hurts, but not enough to protest anything. He opens easily to Jensen’s tongue, falling back against the brick wall with a muffled ‘oof’. Jensen’s hands wind their way into the front Jared’s coat, twisting it as they kiss against the dirty wall. Sounds rise up from his throat, not whimpers but nearly; needy, airy noises that Jared answers by sliding his hands up, large palms fitting neatly under Jensen's jaw as he pulls them closer together.

A few long, slow moments later, Jensen pulls away with a wet noise, breathing heavily. “This is-” He stops, swallowing the raspy sound out of his voice. “Worst idea ever.”

It really is, but even as Jared’s nodding his agreement, he’s pulling Jensen back in. After all, Jensen isn’t the only one whose night is finally catching up with them. But where that left Jensen twitchy and needing reassurance, it leaves Jared on a plateau of excitement and anxiety that really has nowhere else to go. Nowhere but here, with his hands slipping under Jensen’s shirt, following the soft but solid lines of his stomach, curving and gripping the warm indent of his waist.

They rock against the wall, mouths hard and soft in turn as they switch angles, lips and teeth and tongues working against each other. Jared gets a knee between Jensen's thighs and they haven’t been grinding on each other for twenty seconds before Jensen breaks and drops his hands down to Jared’s pants. It looks like a huge force of will, but Jensen manages to stop himself, thumb rubbing the button as he he looks up for confirmation.

Waves of need and desire flood Jared, memories flashing in his head of those hands on guns and knives and hardened into tight fists. It shouldn’t be hot, it shouldn’t make him want to bite and fuck and have, but it _is_ and it _does_. Oh fuck, whatever, it’s not like they’re not already living out some action movie fantasy. Jared nods swiftly, leaning back against the wall again, open and inviting.

The sound of Jared’s zipper lowering seems loud even with their panting breaths and the distant din of the late night city. Jared’s gasp as Jensen’s hand finds his half-hard cock is even louder, head bumping against the wall as the shock of direct pleasure shoots through him.

“Shh, shh.” Jensen’s other hand comes up, cradling the back of Jared’s head where it hit against the rough brick. “Take it easy.” His voice is low and dark, husky as his hand works up and down Jared's cock, bringing him fully hard.

Jared grunts his acceptance, head tilted back and hips lifting into Jensen’s fist while he curves his hands over Jensen’s shoulders. Jensen’s free hand slips down from his head, flattening against his chest to hold him to the wall while Jensen’s grip tightens around his cock.

The pace is slow, but firm and steady enough to have Jared gasping and shuddering, fingers clawing into Jensen’s shoulders each time that tight friction reaches the tip of his cock and slides back down. Jensen is so concentrated on him, so focused that Jared doesn’t even realize what a state he’s in until one of his own rough gasps is met by an answering, guttural moan. The hand against Jared’s chest has twisted his shirt into a tight spiral, shaking with repressed need.

Fuck, they’ve been together so long, but Jared still can’t believe how much they affect each other.

His hands fly from Jensen’s shoulders to his waist, yanking his pants open with a litany of _‘come on, come on’_ on his lips, freeing Jensen’s aching hard cock with a triumphant growl.

Gritting his teeth around a ragged cry, Jensen jerks in Jared’s fingers, crowding into him. “Jared, Jared, _fuck_.” It doesn’t take a second to line themselves up together, cocks sliding against each other between their hands.

They grind into each other, riding the kicks and shudders of pleasure, Jensen giving cut off moans with every breath, just on the edge of whimpers, and Jared wrapping an arm around his shoulder, grasping at him with clawed fingers while they move together.

“Oh my God, _Jen_.” Jared hits it first, that long, frozen second before the rush of orgasm. It comes over him in a wave, a gentle push more than a shove, that has him panting bone-deep breaths and spilling over Jensen’s fingers almost before he’s realized he’s coming. It’s a deep throb, driving his hips forward with slow, heavy force. Such a prolonged slide that he has time, even as his cock is jumping and pulsing against Dean’s, slicking them both up, he has time to ponder how this might be the smoothest, easiest orgasm he’s ever had.

Jensen follows not far behind, the slippery drag of Jared’s come helping to pull his orgasm out of him. It’s rougher for him, a wild, shaking, clutching crest that has him burying his face against Jared’s shoulder to muffle throaty yells. He heaves up against Jared in bone jarring thrusts, cock jerking so hard that the force of it leaves long streaks of come high into Jared’s shirt. At the end of it, he has both arms wrapped around Jared’s neck in a desperate grasp, pulling himself up into the dark, wet heat between them as his boots scuff against the cracked pavement.

After, they catch their breath as Jensen staggers to the side, leaning all his weight into the wall beside Jared. Hands sticky and clumsy, they tuck themselves back into their pants with weak matching sighs.

Jared lets his head fall to the side, peering at Jensen. “That was sort of, uh...”

A slow, easy smile splits Jensen’s lips. “Little weird, yeah.”

Jared slides against the wall until their shoulders bump together and shares a tired grin with Jensen. “Sort of awesome, too.” His smile softens as Jensen’s fingers brush against his, hanging between them, a subtle touch of affection in the darkness. “So. Wanna get out of here?”

“Mm.” Jensen’s head tips back against the wall, eyes turning to the thin strip of night sky above them. “We’ll have to go back to the apartment first, grab some stuff there quick and then head out of town. That’d be safest. Maybe stop by a-”

The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts him, sending them both jumping away from the wall with an alarmed jolt.

“Thanks for taking that little break, guys. Not sure how hygienic it was, but thanks all the same. You would’ve _completely_ lost me, otherwise.”

It’s Sheppard, of course it is, standing in the mouth of the alley with a pistol raised, silhouetted by the streetlight behind him.

Jared, stiff with shock and fear, stumbles to the other side of the alley as Jensen shoves him away. Sheppard’s aim stays trained on Jensen until Jensen moves for his own gun inside his jacket.

With a cluck of his tongue, Sheppard swings his aim over to Jared. “Stop moving or I’m going to do a very bad thing to your friend here, _Jen_.” Sheppard steps forward, eyes never leaving Jensen, aim steady on Jared’s frozen form. He looks winded and a little ragged, but calm. “You know, I was starting to think I was completely screwed, but looks like luck has smiled on me for once tonight. Weapons on the ground, please.” At Jensen’s hesitation, he takes another step toward Jared, weapon thrust forward threateningly. “I don’t think I’ll ask again.”

Jensen’s whole body sort of stutters, caught between wanting to protect Jared and not wanting to provoke Sheppard. “Okay! Okay, just... here.” He holds up his hands, palms out, before slowly pulling out his gun and skimming it across the ground to Sheppard.

Sheppard rolls his eyes. “All of them, Rambo. Why do you both keep acting like I’m an idiot? Yes, alright, getting trapped in my car wasn’t my best moment but come on!” He waves his gun at Jared, who starts back in fear. “ _All_ of them.”

Jensen adds his knife and the brass knuckles to the pile, tossing them over to Sheppard’s feet. “There. That’s it, okay? Can you point the gun at me now?”

“Nah.” Sheppard shrugs. “I sort of like the dynamic we have going here, it’s working quite well. What next?” He holds up a finger as if inspiration just struck him. “Oh! Right. The ultimatum part.” He points at Jensen. “You go with me, right now, and we leave your big man here all safe and cozy. Or you don’t and I shoot him. And then drag your weeping, heartsick form away with me or something, I don’t know.”

Jensen, his wary, neutral voice replaced with snarling anger, takes a step forward. “I’ll kill you if you do.”

Unaffected, Sheppard nods. “You’ll try, yes, but then it still remains that I’ll be the one with the gun.”

Suddenly, Jared remembers that he left that metalworks factory with something extra in his pocket, cursing himself for letting it slip his mind. They’re all too close, though, he’ll alert Sheppard no matter what he does. It’ll have to be quick.

In a flash, he yanks a dead man’s gun out of his pocket, fingers so tense around the grip that the barrel trembles where it aims at Sheppard’s head. “Not the only one.”

Jensen hisses out Jared’s name in alarm, too late to stop him. He looks more afraid now that he has all night, and Jared is sorry for it, but there didn’t seem to be much other choice.

Sheppard steps back quickly, nervous gaze flicking back and forth between them, aim steady at Jared. “Alright, okay, don’t be rash now.” He hold up a hand, placating. “This only evens us out a little.”

Jared stays silent, wrapping his other hand around the grip of the gun as well, trying to counter the tremble.

Sheppard’s polished shoes click on the ground as he takes another step back. “You know we don’t need you, right? He’s already here.” He nods sideways towards Jensen. “You could walk away right now and I swear on my mother, no one would come after you.” A sympathetic smile curves his lips. “You’ve really got nothing to do with this business, everyone knows that.”

Jared frowns, that hollow smile souring his stomach.

Whatever Sheppard sees on his face, he must take it as encouragement. He goes on, words fast and eager. “Don’t know why you’d stay, anyway. To protect a liar? And a murderer? He used to do this, you know.” He gestures with the gun like he’s trying to point out their whole situation. “Hunt down poor bastards who thought they could run away and hide. Last one before he tried it himself? I hear he shot him in the stomach and just waited. Probably took hours. You wanna risk your life on protecting that?”

A calm settles over Jared, then. A sort of warm blanket of confidence that slows his heart and eases the tension in his arms. Yes. He does.

The trembling of the gun stops and his aim goes solid as a rock.

“I don’t care and I’m not going anywhere. You said they just hired you so are you only here for the money or is it worth your life? Because I’ve _got_ something worth dying for here and I _will_ shoot you.”

It’s a stand-off, then. Jared’s hard gaze against Sheppard’s narrow, nervous, calculating eyes. He’s not sure if it will work, he meant every word but will Sheppard believe him? And backed into a corner, will he care? Jared’s never been shot before but he imagines the horrible, tearing shock that could come with it. Would he even know or would he be dead before it registered? He keeps his eyes steady on Sheppard, but suddenly all he wants to do is look at Jensen. Just to look at him. If he’s only going to see one more thing in his life, it might as well be worth it.

But then Sheppard looks down, and Jared knows he’s got him.

“Alright, okay.” Hands raising, Sheppard lets his gun dangle loose from his thumb. “You win.” The weapon lands on the cracked pavement next to Jensen's discarded ones, spinning past them. “Crazy buggers.”

Jared relaxes. Slightly. “Jen.” No answer. He stays on Sheppard, not trusting him an inch. “Jen?” When there’s still no answer, he spares a quick glance. Then another, longer one. Jensen is just... _staring_ at him with a stunned sort of look on his face. Just staring. “ _Jensen._

Jensen snaps out of it with a start. “Sorry, uh, just... what?” Over to the side, Sheppard scoffs.

Jared fights down a smile. There’s a time and a place for getting butterflies over the way your boyfriend looks at you, and this is so not it. “What do we do now?”

“Oh! Uh, right.” Jensen gathers up the pile of weapons on the ground and spirits everything but his own gun away into his clothes. He glares at Sheppard. “On the ground, hands on your head.” Sheppard complies and Jensen steps up to his kneeling form.

For a moment, Jared thinks Jensen’s going to shoot him. So does Sheppard by the way he flinches in anticipation. Honestly, he’s pretty sure even Jensen thought he was going to shoot him, the hand not holding his gun contracting into an angry fist. But a few moments pass, the tension in the air eases, and Jensen moves behind Sheppard, crouching to give him a cursory pat-down.

“We need to find something to tie him with.” And that’s a definitive answer to the ‘are we going to shoot him’ question. Jared can’t help but feel relieved, no matter how bad an idea it might be to leave him here. He’s had about as much in-cold-blood as he can handle for one night. He casts around for something ropey while Jensen searches Sheppard for anything useful, coming away with his phone and wallet. They end up using some old plastic box ties to bind him to a ladder bolted into one of the brick walls, gagging him with a strip cut off Jared’s shirt.

When they’re done, Jensen stands in front of him, arms crossed. “Find a way to say no if they send you after us again, you know I’m not gonna make this choice next time.”

Sheppard mutters something belligerent into the wad of cloth, sneering around it. Jared can’t tell if he’s going to follow the advice, but there’s not much else they can do now, so it’ll have to do.

Moving away, they head toward the mouth of the alley, stopping together just outside the light from the street.

“So...” He could ask ‘what now’ again, but it seems pretty self evident.

Jensen frowns at the gun still in his hand, checking it over for.. whatever you check guns over for. Seriously, it’s a miracle Jared didn’t shoot himself. “Same plan, we go back to the apartment, grab what we can while we can and then blow town.”

“Can we call people after that? Just... friends and family, let ‘em know we’re okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we can do that.” Jensen looks up, apologetic. “It’s not- we’ll come back, I promise. This isn’t permanent. We’ll figure something out.”

“I know.” He smiles at Jensen, trying for sureness. Did he ask for his life to be completely turned around when he woke up this morning? Of course not. But whatever happens now, he’s in it to the end. “Let’s get out of here, okay?” He heads back the way they came but a hand around his wrist stops him short. Jensen, grip tight, wavers between earnestness and regret.

“Jared, I- “ He pauses, seeming to rethink what he was going to say. When it comes, his voice is rough. “Just... thanks.”

Jared smiles, small but genuine, as he steps back into Jensen’s space, leaning in for a quick, soft kiss. “Love you.”

Jensen’s face twists as they pull apart. “Aw man, not in front of the kidnapper!”

Well behind them, Sheppard gives an exasperated groan as Jared shoves at Jensen’s shoulder, laughing. He pulls his wrist through Jensen's grip, winding their fingers together and tugging him towards the alley’s exit with a grin. “Come on.”

 

**********

“Where you headed?”

Jensen shrugs, squinting around at the dinky little gas station they’ve stopped at as he holds the phone to his ear. “Not sure.” They’ve been on the road for a few days now, driving a stolen, beat up little car that Jared made him promise they’d come back and pay for later. They’re heading north, mostly because there happens to be a lot of north. “Jared keeps suggesting that lake house but... I’ve already gotten him into this, we can’t give them any reason to look into his family, too.” On the other end of the phone, Jim grunts, sounding dubious. “Yeah, I know. But I’ve gotta do what I can. He’s already... I mean, I keep thinking he’ll be gone whenever I get out of the car you know?”

“I don’t know, doesn’t sound like he’s going anywhere to me. From what you’ve told me, anyway. At length.”

Jensen laughs, leaning against the car. “Fuck you, man.” Jared had been the one to do the supply run this time, leaving him alone at the pump, watching the numbers click by.

“Look.” Jim’s voice goes serious. “You’re gonna need help.”

“Jim.”

“No, shut up. You’re gonna need a hand in this and I happen to have a few. And you _are_ gonna take them.”

“No, man, we can’t... “

Jim talks over him. “First thing, you’re gonna come here, stay out of sight for a few weeks at least. I’ve got an extra bed and some stupid bastard’s stolen drug money that I’m not using.”

It’s too much. “ _Jim_.”

“You do it, or I have your mugshot up in every city, town, and slight widening of the road in America within the week.”

Guess he can’t argue with that. Still, it takes him a second to collect himself. “...thanks, Jim. I mean it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just keep heading the way you’re heading and I’ll call you in a few days with directions.”

“You know where we are?”

Jim snorts and Jensen can practically feel the smugness emanating down the phone-line. “Please. Who are you talking to?”

“Good point. I guess I’ll talk to you later then.” His only answer is the click of the line going dead. Nice guy, Jim, but not much for social graces. When he turns around again, Jared is walking up with a bulging plastic bag, giving him a wide grin.

“They had Twinkies!”

Jensen shakes his head, biting his lip in amusement. “Score.”

Jared gives him a quick nod of agreement before he climbs into the car, tossing the bag onto the console between the seats. Jensen joins him, settling into the driver’s seat. He turns his head to ask if Jared paid for the gas but stops, watching.

The photo in Jared’s hands is starting to look rough around the corners, probably from whatever pocket Jared had it squirreled away in. Jensen doesn’t remember just what had been going on when it was taken; it was a party at one of Jared’s friends places, but he doesn’t remember exactly what put that enraptured look on his face or the laughing grin on Jared’s. His voice comes out quiet. “You saved that from the warehouse, didn’t you?”

Jared smiles to himself, thumbs running along the edge of the photo. “Yup.”

They’d gone back to the apartment but had taken only the absolute essentials, in and gone in maybe fifteen minutes. Though probably closer to twenty five including the time it took to convince their neighbour to look after Barry for them while they took care of a ‘family emergency’. Still, no time for grabbing anything sentimental. A wave of guilt settles over him as he watches Jared’s fingers caress what is probably the only piece of their ‘old’ life that they’re going to have for a long time.

“You don’t-” His throat closes over his words, he swallows past it. “Jared, you don’t have to come. You don’t...we could figure something out, I could take you to the cops maybe.” Even as he says it, he knows what the answer will be. Knows he’s only asking _because_ he already knows what the answer is. If he was any kind of man he would have driven off while Jared was in the store, left him safe behind. But he can’t. If it makes him a coward, then fine. The only way he’s letting go is if Jared lets go first.

With that small, inward smile still on his lips, Jared slides the picture back into his pocket. “No, I think I’m good where I am.”

Jensen shakes his head, but he still can’t fight the smirk that wants to come out. “You seriously don’t know what you’re getting into here.”

“I know. It’s kind of exciting.” Jared makes an exaggerated face at him, wide eyes and a little gasp of air.

Rolling his eyes, Jensen laughs. “You’ve got problems, you realize that right?”

“Yeah.” With the kind of sudden movement that could get a guy punched if he’s not careful, Jared stretches over the space between them. His aim is a little off, hitting the corner of Jensen’s mouth instead of the full on center, but the kiss is warm and firm. Decisive. “But I like ‘em.” He falls back into his seat, waving at the view out the window. “Come on, we’re burning daylight! We know where we’re going yet?”

Turning his head to hide an embarrassed but undeniably pleased flush at the kiss, Jensen nods. “We’re gonna go meet with a friend of mine, the one who helped me get out of all this in the first place. Well, try to get out.”

“Jim?”

“Yeah.” Jensen blinks, taken aback. He’s surprised Jared remembers, considering all the distractions they’d had when he told that story. “We’ll probably spend a while there, if you’re up for it.”

Jared shrugs. “Beats driving around in a car all day. My legs were not built for a compact.”

Jensen raises his eyebrows as he pulls out of the gas station, giving the cramped stretch of Jared’s legs a lascivious look. “I think we both know what your legs were built for, baby.”

Dragging the bag from the gas station into his lap with a snort, Jared digs through it before pulling out a candy bar. “Perv.”

“Every day.” Once they’re on the highway he peers over, trying to get a look in the bag. “You get my chips?”

“Oh my god, seriously? Every time!”

A little foil bag smacks Jensen in the face before he can duck away,. Another bag, twin to the first, crunches as it hits the side of his head. Beside him, Jared throws his now empty hands in the air.

“When have I _ever_ forgotten your chips, man? God damn!”

Laughing, Jensen throws up an arm in protection. “There was that one time!”

He basks in the comfort of the playful, familiar argument as the miles roll away under their feet, disappearing behind them.


End file.
